Faux
by satan-chillin
Summary: Sam wakes up in another world, apparently replacing the version of him there, the one who lives in a bunker and with a strange gunshot wound on his shoulder. Where demonblood!Sam replaces the present Sam. SamWena/SamWitch. PWP-ish.


this is supposed to be soulless!Sam but wtv.

* * *

Sam wakes under the dim lighting.

It takes him a minute to adjust, and he takes note of his surroundings: the room is sparse with personal belongings like books and clothes, and if not for those he's going to mistake the place as a prison cell with the walls bare of wallpapers and the metal door. For a moment, he's actually intrigued to know whether someone managed to catch him. It has been quite a while since he faced a challenge after all.

Sam gets up when he feels a pang of hunger.

There's no one outside, and Sam sees the rows of metal doors that look the same. He exits the hallway and realizes that he's in a military bunker that he has never been in. He's on high alert, though he's getting more and more curious the longer he explores the place; hungrier too, in more ways than one.

He comes across a large library, expansive with not only books but various old trinkets collected throughout the years if the appearances are to go by. Sam can see himself liking the spot, hunched on the table over a volume for research.

Except that version of him has been gone for years, gone for at least a decade. He's no longer bound to the same human vulnerabilities, not when it's demon blood coursing through him and powering his abilities.

Sam still hunts, only this time it's for his own survival and the pleasure of the thrill.

He meets no one on the way though he senses two presences in the vicinity. The nearest one is coming from the kitchen, and when he gets there, Sam gets treated with the sight of a woman sitting alone and nursing a cup of tea.

She's aware of his arrival and turns around. Sam doesn't know her and her face doesn't strike even a bit of familiarity, but he thinks he knows what she is.

"Sam?" she asks, a little perplexed and relieved to see him standing there.

Sam observes her. She's less than of average height but the amount of magic contained in her is astounding, archaic and magnetic than any of the witches' Sam encountered before. She can be destructive if she wishes to be with the dexterity she surely possesses if she can handle this kind of power with ease.

This one's no ordinary human, nor is she an ordinary witch. Sam has to move carefully.

"You're awake," the woman says. She moves to pour him a cup of tea. "I tried to convince your brother to rest because I'm sure he would have stayed up the rest of the night to keep vigil, but you know Dean. He'd rather be awake. He left for Harlan with Castiel an hour ago. Here." She easily breaches his personal space, and she tugs him down to a stool with surprising strength belying her stature—that, or Sam lets himself be led while he's trying to figure out what's going on here exactly.

The woman continues to fuss around him, and within a few minutes, there's a plate of food in front of him. Sam devours the food with the hunger of a beast—or a demon, in his case—and he pays no heed at the woman watching him oddly and with concern when he drinks the scalding tea in one gulp to wash down the meal.

"Samuel, are you alright?" she asks, her eyes darting between him and the empty plate.

The serving alleviates some of his hunger, though not completely. Still, it's enough to clear his head and regard the woman with more focus. "Yeah," he says. He places an elbow on the counter and slumps his shoulders in a display of tension subsiding. "Just hungry. Thanks for that."

She nods, though she looks unconvinced with either of his answers. Sam tries a different approach.

"What happened?" he asks with the right amount of confusion. "Before…" he trails off and hopes that he's right in his assumption that he—the _other _Sam he apparently replaced—had been unconscious due to some reason or another.

"What do you remember?" she asks him, and Sam knows she's not testing him when her suspicion is overtaken by worry, probably of a possible concussion.

Sam tells her a pretty vague answer of remembering nothing but blackness taking over his vision. Come to think of it, he doesn't remember anything either before waking up here in this unknown place. Sam is sure something brought him here, wherever this is. An alternate universe? He heard of that before. And while he doesn't know at to what end, he relishes in the fact that he's maintaining the right appearance so far.

He'll have to do something with Dean because it turns out that _this_ Sam he's wearing still has a brother. He doesn't know of this Castiel, though the name strikes a chord of distant familiarity in him. Sam knows he has to be careful of him. There's also the matter of the other presence he detects within the bunker, suppressed and dormant for the meantime. That's a total of three he has to watch out for, and if he's lucky he'll manage to convince them that he's their Sam. Hook, line, and sinker, the same way he does so effortlessly with this woman with him.

"How's your head?" she inquires.

He winces. "Have a bit of headache," he lies.

She leans close to place her fingers on his temple. "May I?"

Sam nods, and he will know if she's making a move to prod his head for memories. She doesn't, more concentrated on soothing his nonexistent pain. There's a cool wave of magic that seeps to his skull and the muscles protecting it, and this close Sam can see the purplish hue coming from her fingertips, from her thin arm, and from the core in her chest where Sam's own psyche, the part that processes all that demon blood he takes, yearns to make a connection with.

Sam pulls away abruptly when he feels his head subconsciously leaning to the touch. He grips the thin wrist, and he stares at the woman who doesn't wretch her hand away, staring at him in equal intensity like there's something there between them that they both refuse to acknowledge.

It's a testament of her strength that she can shut his defenses down with mere fingers, and Sam both detests and finds it arousing she has that kind of power over him.

Sam's thumb makes a circle on her skin, and the gesture is pleasing to her with the way her eyes flutter half-close until she shakes her head as if catching herself, putting a good distance away from him in a few strides.

"We talked about this, Samuel," she says, not quite looking at him and biting her lip. "I thought we already agreed."

Sam is frustrated that he doesn't know what she means, that he doesn't know who this woman is and why in the Hell is she rebuffing him if she clearly desires him.

He gives a brief pause and racks his brain—the brain of the other Sam. He's not certain if that remains possible if he already overtook the original owner of this body.

Sam jabs harshly at the right place and something gives. There's a torrent of memories there, a few of them similar to his earlier years and stops where Dean died, torn by hellhounds as his soul was dragged to hell. The version of Sam he replaced has more key memories beyond that: Ruby was there and was able to make him addicted to demon blood, though even when she succeeded in manipulating him to kill Lilith, unlike what originally happened to him where he killed her in advanced when he learned of her plans to use him and continued using demon blood for sustenance, this Sam succeeded in cleansing the fixation from his body amidst the Apocalypse he started.

There was a memory of an angel who claimed he pulled Dean out of Hell, and Sam learned that this was Castiel who became friends with the other Sam and Dean fresh from Hell but very much alive. This Sam had been to Hell as well and his experience there are stored behind a measly set of dilapidated walls.

Sam breezes through the inconsequential recollections of hunting various creatures, pagan entities, and angels and demons alike. This Sam had faced bigger threats such as the Darkness, Death, and presently God himself due to Lucifer's son that this Sam, Dean, and Castiel pretty much adopted as their own.

There were former enemies turned allies, one of them was a former King of Hell, and the other was his immortal witch mother.

Rowena. It's the name of this redheaded woman.

There's several images of her in his head: as an enemy, a necessary evil, a reluctant ally, a tentative acquaintance, a trusted person with shared trauma from Lucifer, a friend that he was told would die by his own hands, and a woman he promised he would bend his fate for.

It's not difficult to conclude that the other Sam loved her—_loves_ her still even after their mutual agreement that they avoid crossing the boundaries of friendship before it's too late for the both of them.

Sam thinks that this version of him is a moron for letting something as trivial as fate stop him from taking this woman.

He's within her bubble in a few steps. She's tinier at this proximity, and Sam is exhilarated at the prospect of handling such a dainty thing.

She looks up at Sam with unadulterated lust and he knows she'll keen at his roughness and will push back against him with equal force and just as animalistic. He'll split her when he slides into that small body and pound mercilessly, but she won't break.

Sam picks her up by her waist, slamming her against the nearest wall. Her head smacks with a thud, though she doesn't complain, her pupils dilating and sharp nails finding his nape. She's the one who crashes her lips against his and Sam returns the gesture with tongue and teeth, caging her further against the wall and holds her up with his body pressed tightly against her.

"Tell me you don't want this," Sam whispers against her ear, biting on an earlobe before nipping down to her neck. Sam laps at her artery, and he can feel the thrum of rushing blood under her skin that smells of raspberries and lavender. Later, he promises himself. "Look at me straight and tell me to stop."

She groans when he descends to her exposed clavicle and he squeezes her left breast through her dress. "I—_ah_—I think it's already obvious that I do want this, Samuel." She wraps her thighs around his waist, her fingers creeping to his hair, and she pulls him back with a twist of her fist to devour his mouth with much fervor.

Sam slips his hand underneath her dress to cup her ass, thumbing the seams of her lace underwear. His other hand searches for the zipper at the back of her dress and pulls it down, practically ripping the dress off in his hurry. Not that Rowena minds, her own hands busy unbuttoning his shirt hastily.

By the time Sam pulls back briefly to admire his handiwork, Rowena's chest is heaving with her milky breasts exposed, her nipples pert at the open air, and her dress bunched around her slim waist. Sam slips out of his torn shirt and grinds against the pooling heat between her legs.

Sam latches on a nipple and bites and sucks. He likes the sound that escapes Rowena's lips and the way her hair falls on her face as she arches under his mouth.

Her responsiveness makes him incredibly hard under his jeans, and while Sam doesn't care whether somebody stumbles upon them while he fucks her against the wall and the counter, he knows the kitchen won't be enough for what he plans to do with her.

He stands back and lets her slide down to catch her by the hips, letting her short legs wrap around him with her feet entwined on his lower back. She gives a breathy giggle when he carries her. And while Sam doesn't feel the mutual affection to what she's giving as she strokes his bare chest, he lets her be, knowing she's more pliant during this kind of moment.

She has no idea, does she? She has no idea that the man carrying her and ravishing her mouth isn't the same person she's looking up to as if he hung the stars.

Sam thrills at the fact that Rowena has no clue at all.

He maneuvers back to the room he initially came from and slams the door, willing the lock in place behind him while Rowena isn't looking.

He dumps her on the bed unceremoniously to unbuckle his belt, slipping out of his pants. Rowena stares up at him behind hooded, inviting green eyes, her red curls spilling on her front and back as she leans back on her elbows. Sam spreads her legs and slots himself towards her, his arms on the sides of her head supporting his weight.

They both fall in a standstill when they meet each other's eyes. She cradles his face with her hands, her touch tender and affectionate. A long-forgotten part of him recognizes the love she holds for this Sam she's mistaking him with.

Sam takes a moment to breathe and let the wash of envy cloy in his gut. It empowers him, the motivation to ruin her for anyone else even for her Sam.

He rips the rest of her dress, the sound of the tearing expensive fabric is lost on both of them as she palms Sam through his boxer. He nips on her neck and works down again on the dip of her clavicle, down on her right breast to flick the hardened nub with his tongue. He watches raptly as she arches against him, his clothed cock rubbing against her stomach.

She slides down his boxers as he shimmies her out of her lace panty to get rid of the last pieces of clothing between them. Rowena pulls him by the nape to nibble on his bottom lip and bite in urgency. Sam is more than willing to oblige, grasping her hip forcefully and imprinting his fingers possessively on her milky skin.

He moves to touch her mound—she's already wet and pushing against his hand. Sam presses her hands further above her head while he works his fingers inside her. He pushes in and out, massaging and curling on her velvety walls. Rowena twists on the sheets, panting Sam's name when he circles his thumb on her clit. Sam inserts another finger once she's too wet and the slide is as smooth as silk.

Sam holds her thigh underneath and flips her. He mouths her nape and grips her hair aside to nibble on her shoulder. Rowena moans and demands with a hiss, "Less teasing and more doing, Samuel."

He smirks on her skin and complies readily.

His member sits heavy in the valley of her ass, and he allows himself to linger there for a moment with shallow thrusts. Rowena wriggles her hips to slide his cock down with much eagerness that it hardly matters which way Sam takes her.

Sam pulls her up on her elbows and knees, and he sinks home with one push. Sam bites her ear with a groan, and she moans at the sensation of his cock filling every space inside her.

Sam moves without so much of a warning and starts off with a brutal pace immediately. It must have hurt her, though she only encourages him with appreciative noises and never once asks to stop.

He grips her hair in his fist and his free hand on her hip to pull her back to him every time he drives hard within. Her back reddens, and Sam finds the color on her skin attractive. He smacks her rump in time when he circles his hips and she screams.

She topples over, with only her knees holding her up, when she snakes her hand down on her, rubbing her nub to completion. Sam sees what she's doing, and he lifts her up, her back on his chest as she's practically sitting on his lap.

He palms her breast and twists a nipple painfully before creeping up to her neck and wraps his fingers around her delicate neck. He replaces her hand when she swats it away from her clit, and he touches her there unhurriedly, wanting to draw it out but at the same time wanting her to spill her juices on his cock as he fucks her like this, burrowing and reaching up and up to open her womb and spill his seed inside.

"Samuel, _oh_, Sam." She cranes her neck to kiss him before her face goes slack with pleasure when her orgasm comes crashing down. Her nails scratch on the side of his neck and down on the juncture on his shoulder.

Sam doesn't stop, drilling her with the same pace throughout. There's a sticky squelch aside from the sound of skin hitting skin, and he can't think of anything more perfect. He doesn't let her go.

Rowena lays her head back with a satisfied hum, though she makes no move to stop him. She allows Sam to continue, occasionally letting out a whimper when he hits a particular spot while she's oversensitive.

"Such stamina," she comments idly with a smirk. Sam pointedly hits the spot again and watches her red lips gasp. Next time, he'd like that mouth around him, full of his length.

He feels her clenching deliciously around his member—not yet unresponsive compared to his previous partners who were pretty much lax the instant they released—urging him to get to completion.

But not yet, Sam thinks, maneuvering her lithe body to lay her down on her back. He enters her again, slowly this time, and his mouth descends to her chest where her heart is, where the core of her magic is. Sam murmurs an incoherent word and he _tugs_.

There's a surprised gasp from both of them, and Sam knows that she feels it too. He looks up to find her eyes blown wide in shock at the sudden spike of pleasure.

Sam is no better with his skin that turns sensitive with every bit of her touch, his cock hardening further inside her. It's not quite the same for him before when he did it with a white witch who did not possess the same strength as Rowena.

They both charged the air, and Sam is once more stirred, pounding in and out, his vigor and pace escalating alongside Rowena's voice. He nails her down brutally, and if she isn't pushing back against him with all her might, she'll hit the headboard.

In the middle of their animalistic coupling, Sam's head is clear enough to recognize Rowena as a suitable mate who will bring him stronger children with both the power of a witch and the power of demon blood. He likes it, he likes the thought that it's a union that'll be beneficial to him and his legacy in the long run.

"_Dimittet et dimittere,"_ he hears her whisper brokenly to his ear before Sam goes rigid and breaks down like a dam. He releases inside her with such intensity that curls his toes and sends white across his vision momentarily.

Sam comes down with a sharp intake of breath, heaving when he looks down on Rowena who's no better with her wildly disheveled red hair. She stares up at him, panting and exhausted, but with a touch of a soft smile gracing her lips.

Sam thinks it's not him anymore who swoops in to kiss her tenderly and who calls her name fondly.

Oddly enough, he becomes aware of a dull ache coming from his shoulder. He pays no attention to it but with a quick glance sees that it's a wound, a gunshot wound of the other Sam.

Remembering the other Sam he supposedly replaced turns his mood mildly sour.

He makes a move to pull out when Rowena stops him and carefully guides his back on the sheets. They remain connected once she's above him, her head on his chest. She hardly weighs a thing that if she's anybody else, Sam knows a long-buried instinct of protectiveness in him will resurface.

"I love you, Samuel," she murmurs sleepily, adoringly, and instead of feeling the same green envy latching, it's something else that Sam feels.

Something he's familiar with a long, long time ago in another world.

Maybe, just maybe, there's hope for him yet.

* * *

_**fin**_


End file.
